


Stabilize

by stardropdream



Series: Equalize/Stabilize [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Post Season/Series 07, Season 8 Doesn't Exist, Sharing a Bed, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 17:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17606066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: “What happened?” Keith asks.“Short answer? You fell through a wormhole and now you’re in the future,” Shiro answers.Keith bites the inside of his cheek. It isn’t the strangest thing he’s ever heard in his life, but “weird shit” ends up being a high bar when you’re a Paladin of Voltron, traveling the universe and fighting the forces of evil. Still, it explains the way Shiro looks now— obviously older. It explains, somehow, how he might go from a hospital bed to the Atlas, from a hospital bed to Shiro's arms.





	Stabilize

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookyfoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/gifts).



> Fic request from [Spooky](https://twitter.com/spooky_foot) (who is also a generous person for beta-ing her own request lmao ty). 
> 
> This fic is a companion fic to the "future Keith visiting the past" story, this time from season 7 Keith's POV as he visits the future. I don't think it's super necessary to read the first part before this one, but likely the fic will make more sense with that parallel context.

Keith doesn’t know the reason why he wakes up when he does. He doesn’t know what makes him blink his eyes open in his hospital bed about three seconds before a wormhole opens over his bed and swallows down around him. He’s engulfed in a cloud of smoke made of magic and time, swirled together in a way that feels greasy on his skin. And then he’s not. 

It’s second nature when, tripping out of the wormhole, he spots Shiro. The air around them is smoky and loud, sirens blaring and other voices shouting. But they don’t matter. Keith’s eyes lock onto Shiro and hold there. 

He falls right into his arms. Keith must make a sound, some sort of startled breath, because Shiro’s hold around him is protective and sure. 

“I’ve got you,” he hears Shiro say, his voice soft against Keith’s ear— deeper, somehow, than Keith remembers it. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” 

Keith wants to tell him _of course_ , because it’s Shiro and Shiro’s holding him, but he can’t even manage that much before he’s passing out again. 

 

-

 

Keith doesn’t feel frightened when he wakes up. He’s tucked into a bed much too large for just him, his shoulder dipping into a strange divot in the mattress. He rolls onto his side and sucks in a deep breath, then sits up. 

“Keith.” He hears Shiro say his name behind him. Keith turns to Shiro, stepping to his bedside. “You’re awake— How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” Keith answers, honestly, and it’s not the most accurate of descriptors but the best he can do. 

Now that he isn’t stumbling his way through magic-science anomalies, and can take a moment to just look, Keith recognizes the changes in Shiro’s face immediately. There’s a pair of rounded glasses perched on top of his head, pinning his silver hair back. There are the whispers of laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. 

“How long was I asleep?” Keith asks, frowning.

“Not too long,” Shiro answers, which isn’t an answer. He sits at the edge of the bed, a bed far too large to fit just one person, Keith notes internally. Shiro feels so far away, feet planted on the floor, sitting in a way so he barely takes up any space on the bed. Keith drags his feet over the soft cotton sheets. 

He sweeps his eyes over the room he’s in, taking in his surroundings in quick succession. It’s Shiro’s room— he recognizes Shiro’s coat draped over a chair. But the bed is too large for one person. There’s a pair of boots at the foot of the bed too small to be Shiro’s. There are gadgets and electronics littered on one of the desks lined up against the far wall. A couch pressed up against the other wall. A movie poster of Bii-Boh-Bi wearing sunglasses and a leather jacket taped to the wall has googly eyes glued to the sunglasses. _This time, it’s personal,_ the tagline says. 

He doesn’t realize he’s reaching for Shiro until Shiro takes his hand and tugs, so gently it’s almost painful. He pulls Keith into his arms, shifting closer. 

It’s a strange feeling. Shiro’s never hugged him like this before, one arm curled protectively around his waist but the other resting at the back of his head, fingers tangled up with his hair. Keith closes his eyes. 

“What happened?” Keith asks. 

“Short answer? You fell through a wormhole and now you’re in the future,” Shiro answers. 

Keith bites the inside of his cheek. It isn’t the strangest thing he’s ever heard in his life, but “weird shit” ends up being a high bar when you’re a Paladin of Voltron, traveling the universe and fighting the forces of evil. Still, it explains the way Shiro looks now— obviously older. It explains, somehow, how he might go from a hospital bed to the Atlas. 

Keith hesitates and then pulls away from the hug. He studies Shiro’s face in this next context. Older, yes. But still Shiro. Still clean-shaven, still silver-haired. Still with a mouth hinting a smile even as his eyebrows slant down, an expression that so many people misinterpret as seriousness rather than concentration. A few more lines on his face, his hair maybe a little thinner at the temples. The slice of a scar down the side of his neck that Keith doesn’t recognize. 

“Okay.” He frowns. “What’s the long answer?” 

“It’s a lot to explain. Hold on,” Shiro says, letting him go and standing. “I’ll get you something to wear that isn’t a hospital gown, then I’m all yours.” 

Keith is quiet for a second too long before he manages a pathetic, “Ha. Uh. Yeah, okay.” 

_I’m all yours._ Keith forces himself to look around the room as Shiro crosses towards a closet, opening it. Inside there’re a wide array of clothes, some Shiro’s size and others— not. He digs around and Keith lets his eyes linger on his back, watching him before dragging his eyes away. 

He looks at the bed, wide and lived-in, pillows haphazard at the headboard. He looks at the side-table, a lamp screwed into the surface so it doesn’t fall over during any turbulence, a similarly mounted clock. A framed photo. 

Keith stares at the photo, like looking through a wavering, ending dream. He focuses on it, but it also doesn’t make sense, like the edges are blurring together as a dream ends. He recognizes Shiro, because of course he does, dressed formally and with his hair slicked back. He’s smiling, not at the camera but at the man in his arms. 

It takes him a little time to recognize himself because the image is incongruous. It’s him. He knows it’s him. There’s a braid running down his back, flowers woven between each plait. He’s taller, but he has one hand pressed to Shiro’s chest. Keith zeroes in on the ring on his finger. 

Keith looks at it, not quite processing what he’s seeing. Out of the corner of his eye, he feels movement and turns as Shiro approaches him. His smile is gentle and he’s holding a bundle of clothes in his arms. 

“These should fit,” Shiro says, handing them to him. 

Keith figures they would. They’re his clothes, after all. He realizes the thought distantly and congratulates himself on how calmly he’s accepting this new information. He reaches out to take the clothes from Shiro. 

Shiro’s hands empty. Keith’s eyes stray to Shiro’s hand, too— to the matching ring as the one in the picture. The one on another Keith’s hand. 

Keith swallows and looks up at Shiro just as Shiro asks, “Do you need help?” 

He’s in the future. He’s fallen through a wormhole and arrived here. Standing in front of him is the Shiro he knows, but years down the line. Standing in front of him is a Shiro who’s married to a Keith. He tests the thought in his mind, weighing it, turning it over to examine it. He’s married to Shiro.

The thought doesn’t quite fit. It’s an impossible dream. And yet, he’s staring at reality in the face. 

Perhaps he fell harder than he realized with the Black Lion. Perhaps this is just a fever dream. Perhaps it isn’t anything at all, just the dying hope of a dying brain as he bleeds out somewhere in reality. 

“I’m okay,” Keith tells Shiro, before the silence can stretch too far and too open between them. 

Shiro nods and doesn’t press. He turns to give Keith some privacy, heading to the cluttered desk and digging around through one of the drawers. Keith strips slowly and pulls on the loose-fitting pants and the even looser shirt, his body aching with each movement. He doesn’t quite fill the shirt out. 

He glances at the photo again, his eyes staring at this older version of himself. At this other version of Shiro. He has a matching flower from Keith’s hair tucked behind one ear. He’s grinning in a way that Keith’s never seen before, eyes soft as he looks at Keith in the picture. 

Keith rips his eyes away as a drawer shuts with a decisive click and Shiro first glances quickly over his shoulder, sees Keith dressed, and then turns towards him fully. He’s holding a datapad. 

“So… long answer?” Keith prompts. 

“Right. Okay,” Shiro says, frowning as he collects his words. “Okay, ha… you think I’d have prepared a welcome speech for this or something. The Atlas is stationed out in the desert right now, near the Garrison. We’ve been experimenting with stabilizing wormholes to use more effectively as transportation between systems without needing to rely too heavily on the quintessence within an individual and more at the ambient quintessence in the universe.” 

“Okay,” Keith echoes, only understanding the idea in theory. He nods, all the same. It makes sense, as much sense as things like wormholes can make sense.

“We accidentally passed through a time dilation pocket. The Elytarians— ah, a new member of the Coalition— warned us that might happen. They can see in 4D, so they know all about time progression.” Shiro pauses, something sparking in his eyes— amusement, most likely, or that desire to tell Keith more information than is necessary. Keith remembers that look well whenever Shiro explains hoverbike specs to him. “Anyway, it means that a wormhole opened in your time and you switched places with the Keith from this time. Something like that. It’s only temporary. I promise. We’ll get you back home.” 

It’s a lot at once, and not fully explained— but it’s also Shiro delivering the information. Keith nods, accepting it for what it is. 

“Here,” Shiro says, holding out a datapad as he approaches. Keith sits back down and takes it from him, frowning at it. The bed dips as Shiro sits beside him. 

“What’s this?”

“Something like an orientation page?” Shiro says. “I, uh, I think it might help. Get you up to speed with what’s going on. And I can elaborate on anything that doesn’t make sense.” 

Keith nods and studies the datapad. It’s the obvious first— a welcome from the future, a reassurance that he’s okay. It’s practical knowledge, like the month and year, the number of planets currently in the Universal Coalition, who won the last World Cup (now renamed to the Universe Cup— also, the winner was an alien race called the Hyn), the name of the world leader, a very small, very brief explanation of what they’ve discovered so far about stabilizing wormhole travel. Things like that. Nothing super necessary to know, but helpful.

Keith smiles a little, to himself, helpless. “You prepared.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro says with a soft chuckle. “Time is— weird. Confusing. It seemed… the least we could do is make sure you’re comfortable when you get here.”

Keith nods, powering down the datapad. He fumbles for a moment, unsure where the power button even is on this updated, upgraded version of what he’s used to. Shiro takes it from him when he hands it back. 

He looks up at Shiro, feeling uncertain for a moment. It hits him, suddenly, all the things Shiro is saying— that he’s in the future, that he was injured back home, that he’s here instead. The fight. The robeast. The explosion. Falling, falling, falling—

“We’re— everyone is—”

“Alive,” Shiro says when Keith fumbles, must recognize the fear that flickers in his eyes. “Yeah, Keith. We all made it. You made it. You’re okay.” 

Something inside Keith’s chest unfurls, not quite peace but something that lets him breathe again. He nods his head. 

“And my mom?” Keith asks.

“She’s stationed right now at the moon base but she should be able to get here by the evening.” 

Keith nods, tension easing from his shoulders.

“Keith,” Shiro says, gentle, after a moment. His expression is serious. “I… We don’t really know much about time traveling. I don’t know how much is too much to tell you. But, we also can’t help that you’re here.”

Frowning, Keith nods. 

“But,” Shiro continues, before Keith can assure him, driving at whatever it is he wants to say. “… I don’t want to keep things from you.” 

Keith only barely resists looking back at the picture frame again. He keeps his eyes on Shiro. He studies his face. He parts his lips, as if to speak, but no words come. His hands rest, limp, in his lap. He’s wearing his own clothes. 

“Keith,” Shiro says, looking at him. Keith nods, a silent encouragement. Shiro sighs and continues, “In the future, we’re married. You and me.” 

Keith doesn’t quite nod, but he accepts the words as they wash over him for the confirmation they are. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Shiro he already realized. Shiro, though, must interpret his silence as fear or shock, because he shifts a little beside him and then moves a little closer— almost like he’ll touch him and only just holds himself back. 

“Just for a couple years now, but we live here on the Atlas together.” Shiro doesn’t fumble. His words are slow, calm, almost cautious. He’s watching Keith’s face so closely that it feels almost like too much, like he’s being scrutinized and picked apart for every insecurity flickering in his eyes. 

“Okay,” Keith says. 

Shiro’s eyebrows pinch closer together. There are more lines on his forehead now. 

“You’re… really handling this well,” Shiro says, cautious, like Keith is some sort of spooked animal. Like he knows Keith isn’t handling it well at all. He probably does know that. 

“… It doesn’t really feel real,” Keith confesses. He looks down. “On the space whale, I’d see flashes of the past and future. I— I never saw anything like this.”

The flashes of the future were nebulous and made little sense. Keith barely remembers those, not the way he remembers the past unfolding in front of him and his mother. He never saw Shiro sitting next to him like this, a ring on his finger. He never saw a flash of the future where Shiro was holding him in his arms, flowers in his hair. 

Shiro smiles at him, something soft and gentle and _him._ “Sorry to ruin the surprise.” 

Keith laughs and ducks his head. Something hot pushes at the back of his eyes but he refuses to let himself cry, unsure if it’s fear that he’s ruined this somehow by witnessing it or happiness that it’s apparently a future unfolding in front of him. 

It settles, like freshly fallen snow. It builds slow, but then covers him completely—

He and Shiro are married. He and Shiro are together. Keith’s long since accepted that he’s been in love with Shiro, since almost the very moment they first met, if he’s letting himself be sentimental. He’s also accepted in that time that his feelings for Shiro are one-sided, romantically. Only ever meant to be a protective friendship. 

He blinks slowly and his entire body starts to tremble. Goosebumps rise on his arms and a little breath wisps out of him and then lurching back in as a small, hurtling gasp. 

“I get it,” he murmurs, laughing. “This is a fever dream.” 

A heavy hand falls on his thigh, just above his knee. Keith stares at it, at the curve of Shiro’s fingers, the flare of his knuckles, the glint of a ring on his finger. Keith stares and stares and the image doesn’t change and the touch doesn’t stop feeling heavy and corporeal. 

He looks up at Shiro. 

“We’re both Shiro now,” Shiro declares. His expression is serious but there’s that hint of a smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. 

Keith wrinkles his nose, his entire face pink from the implication but also wanting to groan— which, Keith realizes, is likely Shiro’s intention. 

“What an awful joke.” 

Shiro’s grin appears, wide and bright and handsome. “That’s what you always say. But I know you like it.” 

Keith does. He isn’t about to give Shiro the satisfaction of confirming that, though. 

“Married,” Keith murmurs, testing the word. 

When he glances at Shiro again, his smile is a gentle crease, eyes so fond that Keith almost feels embarrassed on behalf of himself. He clears his throat, fiddling with the edge of his shirt. 

“Everyone’s really hoping to spend time with you,” Shiro says. “You passed out right after exiting the wormhole, so they didn’t get a chance to talk with you. But Hunk’s already putting together a Welcome to the Future party, if you’re up for that.” 

Keith feels a small squirm of insecurity in his gut, a shyness that he can’t quite place— trying to picture what everyone looks like, alive and older and heavy with memories Keith doesn’t share yet. 

“Only if you want,” Shiro says, softer, because he must see something on Keith’s face. 

Keith feels, suddenly, incredibly scrutinized. It isn’t the first time Shiro’s known him without Keith having to say something— Shiro’s always been like that. It feels more weighted now, though, in this context. He dips his head down, staring at his hands. 

“I think I need to sleep more,” Keith confesses. 

“I have a medkit in here,” Shiro says, voice sympathetic. “Do you want some pain killers? I have a recharged hypodizer and—” He looks befuddled for a moment, brow furrowing. “Wait. I forget. Did we have hypodizers in your time?”

Keith shakes his head. “No. But I’ll take it if it means my ribs will stop aching.” 

He watches Shiro retrieve the medkit. He pulls out some sort of medical cylinder and presses it against his wrist. It lets out a little shrill cheep and then Keith’s bones feel gummy for half a second before he feels floaty and ethereal. When he feels solid again, the pain aching in his ribs is gone.

“Thanks,” Keith sighs as he stretches out on the bed again. 

“Take as long as you need,” Shiro tells him, then promises, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Keith doesn’t fight the heavy feeling of his eyelids and lets himself succumb to sleep again, trusting Shiro’s words. 

 

-

 

When Keith wakes again, his body feels achy and spirally. He doesn’t have a chance to feel anxious because when he rolls onto his side, his eyes land on Shiro instantly. He’s sitting stretched out on the couch and reading something on a datapad, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

He hears Keith shift. He looks up with a smile. “Hey, b—” he coughs. “Buddy.” 

“Hi,” Keith says, and his voice sounds so small to him. 

Shiro powers down the datapad, stands, and pushes the glasses up on top of his head as he approaches. Keith only has time to prop himself up and start to sit up before Shiro’s already there, hand at the center of his back and helping lift him. 

Shiro’s smile is soft, almost sleepy himself. Keith’s heart flips along in his chest. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Better,” he answers. He assesses and then frowns. “Confused.”

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees. His hand lingers at Keith’s back, he notices. “I think you have a good excuse for that. There’s… a lot, you know?”

Keith nods. 

“I called your mom while you were asleep. Just so she knows what’s going on— and so you could call her once you woke up. But she’s actually making a trip down here to see you.”

“Really?” Keith asks, his heart twisting up at the prospect.

“Yeah.” Shiro smiles. “Oh, and Hunk messaged me not too long ago. Dinner’s almost ready to go,” Shiro says. He tilts his head. “If you’re feeling up for it. Say the word and I’ll tell everybody that you didn’t wake up in time.” 

Keith shakes his head, feeling shy as he looks at Shiro. There’s no reason he should be feeling _shy_ about Shiro. It’s _Shiro._ It’s always just been Shiro. 

“No. It’s okay.” He’s quiet for a moment. “You wear glasses,” Keith observes, because he has no idea what else to say. He feels like a stupid kid as soon as he says it, feels like he’s sixteen again and seeing Shiro for the first time, handsome and tall and somehow, strangely, paying attention to him. He doesn’t like the feeling, of being young and uncertain, of being gangly limbed and stupid. He doesn’t miss being a teenager at all. 

“Hm, oh. Yeah?” Shiro asks, seeming to remember they’re still perched on top of his head. He plucks them back down so they drop onto his nose. He laughs. “I keep forgetting about them. They’re new. I just need them for reading.” 

Keith must give him a baffled look because Shiro laughs again, a shadow of the bashful laughter Keith’s used to. It isn’t quite an embarrassed laugh now, though, but something a little more secured, something lighter. 

“The clone b— my body kind of reset everything. But guess I was always meant to have crappy eyes, eventually,” Shiro explains with a shrug. “I could get my eyesight fixed, but— well. You like the glasses.” 

“Right. The hot professor look,” Keith says before he can stop to think. He nearly slaps a hand over his mouth.

Shiro’s cheeks turn pink. It looks almost odd, but still charming, on his older face. “Oh. I think it was because you liked pulling them off to kiss my nose. But, uh… yeah. I guess the hot professor look, too.” 

Keith tries to imagine himself doing that. Walking up to Shiro and pulling the glasses off, leaning in to kiss his nose. It’s so absurdly sweet that the action feels incongruous. He can’t reconcile these actions with something he would do, that he’d be allowed to do. 

Shiro takes the glasses off and tucks them away in a cloth holder that he tucks back into a pocket. His nose, Keith supposes, does look rather kissable. But most of Shiro seems kissable, in Keith’s correct opinion. 

Without the glasses holding his hair back, a few strands flop back over his forehead, dusting past his eyebrows, not quite long enough to block his eyes. 

Keith tries to picture it again— what it’d feel like to be married to Shiro. To kiss him just because he wants to. To tell Shiro _I like your glasses because I can kiss your nose._ Holding his hand. Feeling his hands on him, like now, Shiro’s fingertips traced against the line of his back. 

It’s as distant a dream as anything else surrounding his feelings for Shiro. He can’t picture a reality in which Shiro loves him back. 

“Are you feeling up for heading over to the others?” Shiro asks him, understanding as always.

“Sure,” Keith agrees.

Shiro helps him to stand but once he’s on his feet, Keith feels surer-footed and steps away from Shiro’s steadying hands. Shiro doesn’t chase him, doesn’t try to condescend to him and insist that he needs the extra help. He follows Keith instead as the door opens. 

They step out of Shiro’s room— their room, Keith corrects silently, his eyes straying the nameplate at the entrance: 

_K. Shirogane_  
_T. Shirogane_

Keith looks quickly away, cheeks heating red. He looks instead out towards the open, common-room that bridges all the Paladins’ quarters together. Each door has a color-coded indicator next to the nameplates. Lance’s door is covered in blue and pink heart stickers and Hunk has that same poster of Bii-Boh-Bi in sunglasses and a leather jacket hanging crooked next to his door. 

Shiro leads the way through some weaving hallways. Then, a door opens to a room already loud with activity and thick with delicious smells. Keith nearly floats through the door, following the smell of spices and meats. 

He sees them all there— gathered around, laughing, _alive._ Shiro told him everybody was fine, and he believed him, but seeing them all there lets Keith finally feel fully himself again, relaxed and relieved at once. 

“Baby Keith is here!” Pidge shouts out as soon as she spots Shiro and Keith coming through the door.

Keith doesn’t have time to puzzle over the absurd name because Hunk sweeps him up into a tight hug, reminiscent of his usual bear hugs but might gentler in consideration of Keith’s bruised ribs. He still lets out a soft sound of surprise all the same and sinks forward, leaning against Hunk. Hunk’s always been a good hugger. Not as good as Shiro’s hugs, but still good. 

“Good to see you, man,” Hunk says, voice deep and honeyed. “Glad to know you didn’t explode in a wormhole.”

“Uh,” Keith says. “Yeah. Me too?” 

Next is Allura, who hugs him far more gently. She’s taller than him now, too, which makes Keith feel a little pink in the face, especially when she pats him gently on the arms and remarks on how young humans can look, sometimes. 

“We’re so happy to see you,” she says, her voice nurturing and accepting. Keith pretends he doesn’t shiver at her words. 

Pidge’s hug is a one-armed sling and then a punch in the arm, which makes Keith laugh. 

“Did you seriously call me Baby Keith just now?”

“Well, you _are_ Baby Keith,” Pidge declares. “You’re so short.” 

Keith decides not to point out how he’s still taller than her. 

“Matt’s going to be so jealous he’s off-planet. He’s been harassing me for years about your little time-travel journey since he missed it the first time. Can’t wait to rub it in his face.” 

She’s grinning so Keith laughs and smiles back, unsure what to say— sibling torture has always been a foreign concept to him at the best of times. 

“So, you going to help us stabilize the wormhole tomorrow?” Pidge asks. “Allura and I got it contained, but we’ll need your quintessence sensitivity if we want to progress at all. It’s how you’re gonna, you know, get back home.”

“My what?” Keith asks.

“Oops,” Hunk says, elbowing Pidge. “I don’t think he knows that part yet.” 

“Whatever. Just means he knows how important it is that he help us.” 

Keith holds up his hand in a sign of surrender. “Yeah, okay. I’ll help you. I mean, besides, you probably want to figure it all out as soon as possible and get your Keith back. Probably you get along better with him anyway.”

“Aww, buddy,” Hunk says and pulls him into a hug again. “Don’t be self-deprecating. We like you just fine!” 

Keith sighs and tries to hug him back. When he sees Lance coming, his shoulders tense up. “God, don’t tell me you’re about to hug me, too.” 

Lance looks so scandalized that Keith starts to feel insulted that apparently the idea of hugging him is too much to even fathom.

“You. You!” Lance declares, dramatic as he always is. 

“Uh, yeah, me,” Keith returns, unsure what he’s exactly getting into here. He wonders if maybe he insulted Lance with the hug question. Maybe he should hug Lance and just get it over with. 

“Yeah, good to see you, Keith!” Lance declares, like he’s restarting the conversation. Keith lifts his eyebrows and takes a little piece of cheese and spinach pie that Hunk holds out to him. Lance steps forward and finger-guns at him. “With hair, that is!” 

Keith chews on his pie and blinks at Lance.

Lance continues to point. “Because you’re bald now.”

Keith thinks of the wedding picture on Shiro’s nightstand. “No I’m not,” he says. “I have a braid, right?” 

Lance doesn’t wilt but his eyes do narrow. “You’re bald.”

“No, I’ve seen pictures,” Keith answers. 

“Well, whatever, maybe,” Lance dismisses, undeterred. “You also have to stop eating beef now! A tragedy since Hunk’s making his famous beef skewers tonight!” 

Keith considers that, too, and considers what being married to Shiro must be like. He takes another bite of his pie and takes his time chewing it. He stares long and hard at Lance. “Okay,” he says, once he swallows. “Shiro’s mostly vegetarian anyway… makes sense we’d have similar diets if we’re married.” 

Easier to just prepare the one meal, or something. Keith’s never really thought about that or the practicality of it. Shiro tried to make him a vegetable curry once before the Kerberos launch. It’d gotten a little burnt at the bottom but Keith had just told Shiro it gave the curry a nice smoky flavor, and that was mostly true. It was the first home-cooked meal Keith had had since before his father died, so he’d loved it by default. Maybe Shiro makes him curry sometimes. Since they’re married. Maybe Keith makes him curry, too. 

“You lost all your toes!” Lance shouts, shrill and popping in Keith’s ears. 

Shiro, hovering nearby and with his own plate of food Hunk’s shoved off onto him, snorts to himself. Keith looks at him and Shiro shrugs. He sounds like he wants to laugh when he says, “I think your toes are fine last I checked.”

“Shiro, don’t ruin this for me!” Lance cries, looking both devastated and betrayed.

“Sorry,” Shiro answers and takes a bite out of a little green vegetable that Keith doesn’t recognize but can guess is probably alien. 

“Ruin what?” Keith asks, frowning at Lance. “I have no idea what you’re even talking about.”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Lance gasps. He nearly drops his plate until Shiro gently reaches out and takes it from him, setting it down on the table well away from Lance’s flailing, jutting elbows. “I’ve been— I’ve been planning my revenge for years! Years, Keith! Waiting, always waiting, for my moment to strike.”

“Yeah, we _know_ ,” Pidge interrupts, ducking beneath one of Lance’s aforementioned flailing elbows in order to grab a goat cheese-stuffed fig off his plate. She pops it into her mouth and chews with her mouth open, grinning when Keith wrinkles his nose. “We’ve had to hear you complain and talk about it for actual, literal years.” 

“I’ve been planning to torture you!” Lance cries.

Keith makes sure his voice is as dry and scathing as he can manage when he answers, “Yeah, I’m feeling really tortured right now.” 

It’s partly true. Lance’s shrieking will likely give him a headache before too long. 

“Why aren’t you easier to torture?” Lance whines. 

Keith shrugs and eats his food. 

“It’s alright, Lance,” Allura says, likely drawn by Lance’s shouting. She loops her arm through with his and says, “But remember. You can’t tell him about his unfortunate lower back tattoo. We promised.” 

For half a moment, Keith feels a spike of true terror, but then Lance swivels around to give Allura an impossibly soppy look and Keith realizes she’s teasing him, too. His cheeks turn pink. 

“Oh yeah, all his unfortunate tattoos,” Pidge agrees, grinning. “The one at the back of his neck that’s just a kiss mark.” 

“And the Bii-Boh-Bi on his heel,” Hunk agrees. 

“Hey,” Keith says, with feeling.

“Sorry, buddy, you’re the baby of the group now,” Hunk tells him, and doesn’t look that apologetic at all. “You have to stop doing the ‘disappear and come back a different age’ thing. So, yeah. _So_ many tattoos.” 

Keith looks helplessly at all of them, unsure how to handle the barrage of their laughter, the goading and teasing. It feels both welcome and— foreign, unknown to him. He’s surrounded by people he’s known now for years, but they’re years ahead of him— a thousand jokes, a thousand breaths shared between them that Keith doesn’t know.

They know him and do not know him. He knows them and yet does not. 

He looks helplessly over at Shiro.

Shiro’s taking a sip of his drink, watching them all with an impossibly fond look in his eyes. He’s quiet, just observing them. Then he smiles, mostly to himself, as if laughing at his own private joke.

Then he sets his glass down and says, “You’re all wrong. Keith’s tattoo is on his ass. It’s a bullseye.” 

He looks at Keith and winks before taking a bite of his little green vegetable again. Keith’s face turns pink. 

“Ugh,” Pidge says. “Shiro ruined it.”

Shiro grins as the others turn to start piling up their plates with food. Keith feels like his face is changing from pink to red. He blinks stupidly at Shiro. 

“They should leave you alone about it now,” Shiro tells him. “Also, I can confirm you don’t have any tattoos.” 

“I— uh. Thanks,” Keith says, his voice sounding reedy and thin even to his own ears. 

Shiro takes Keith’s plate from him and piles it up with more food before handing it back. 

 

-

 

Halfway through dinner and well into the night, his mom’s little one-person ship docks with the Atlas. 

Somehow, seeing her is what solidifies it all for her— it’s not until Keith sees her that he realizes this isn’t all some weird almost-reality. He’s here. She’s here. He’s alive. She’s alive.

His mom is older now, but only a little. The Galra age so differently, Keith thinks, as Krolia folds her arms around him and tucks him in close. He sinks into her, his arms looping around her in turn and squeezing tight. 

There’s a certain peace that comes with seeing all his friends and family alive and well, older and wiser and _happy._ His mother is no exception, and he refuses to admit he’s tearing up as she holds him. 

“Mom,” he rasps out and she understands, squeezing him tight and not letting him pull away until he’s had time to blink his eyes clear of mistiness. 

“Hello, little one,” she tells him and Keith shivers and doesn’t feel small for the endearment, but understood and held. He wonders what it’s like for her, to see him like this again— the age where they first bonded, perhaps, or when it first felt real to call her _Mom_ and mean it. 

She strokes her fingers through his hair and hums quietly at how short it is, and he feels completely and fully protected, grounded in this reality. In this future.

She can’t stay long, and Keith marvels at the fact that she’d bother to come down to Earth for only a few hours with him. But then, maybe it shouldn’t surprise him. 

The party continues around them, but Keith spends the rest of the evening with his mom. She can’t tell him much about the future, but Keith doesn’t mind that— wants to absorb the knowledge that she’s alive and happy and _here_ , that they’ve had _years_ to spend together. 

Perhaps Keith didn’t realize how wayward he felt, being here in a nebulous future, until he had her here— and how strange, to know that his mother has become that stability, something he thought he’d never get. She combs her fingers through his hair and he loves the way she always does that, loves the scritch of her claws against his scalp, the small way she smiles at him like she’s holding onto something secret but is always ready to share it with him. 

“Were you at my wedding?” Keith blurts out and then blushes. 

Krolia smiles and scritches just behind Keith’s ear. “Of course.” 

Keith lets out a little breath. 

Keith stays up too late spending time with his mom. When she has to go back to the moon, she kisses his forehead and hugs him tight, then makes him promise to go right to bed. 

He feels like a little kid again, but in a good way. He doesn’t protest when Shiro fetches him after Krolia’s about to depart. He blinks a little as Krolia pulls Shiro into a hug, squeezing him tight. It makes sense, though, the thought lodging in his brain— Shiro is her son-in-law. He blinks a few times at the thought. He doesn’t protest when Shiro guides Keith back towards their room. Shiro’s already set himself up on the couch and pretends to not hear Keith when he sleepily mumbles that he should take the couch instead. 

“Did you have fun?” Shiro asks him, voice low. He looks sleepy.

“Fine,” Keith agrees, because he isn’t sure how to put it all to words— that feeling of completion but isolation, like he belongs and yet doesn’t belong. That he is surrounded by people who love him but who love a different version of him, a person he isn’t yet. 

But it’s Shiro. And Keith doesn’t have to say it for Shiro to see something in his face. He steps forward and loops one arm around Keith’s shoulders and tugs him in, hugging him tight, his body bowing around him like the curve of a wave, engulfing him. He’s so much larger than Keith remembers, or he just feels small. Either way, he’s aware of just how much wider than him Shiro is, just how completely he shadows him. 

Keith closes his eyes and sinks against Shiro’s chest. Shiro rubs his back. 

 

-

 

Keith’s too rattled to sleep fully through the night. Or maybe it’s because he’s been sleeping too much— here and back home. Regardless, he shifts in his sleep and then wakes up with a small breath. It’s nothing strenuous, no nightmares or panic this time. But he still knows he won’t be able to sleep. 

Keith blinks and sits up. Shiro’s sitting up on the couch, a datapad and his arm casting him in an eerie blue glow. He looks up when he hears Keith shift, though. It’s so much like every other time Keith’s been in this room— but somehow different, in the dark of the strange hour. 

“Hey,” Shiro greets before Keith can say anything, his voice soft and sleepy. “You alright? I didn’t wake you up, did I?” 

Keith shakes his head. His eyes stray first to the picture on the nightstand but then slide to the clock. It’s an hour late enough to not be night anymore but not quite morning, either. 

He turns back towards Shiro and frowns. “Why are you awake?” 

Shiro hesitates. “I couldn’t sleep.” 

Keith frowns. “Why not?” 

Shiro sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s a nervous gesture. 

“Okay.” He sighs. “I’m trying to get better at talking about it,” Shiro confesses. “It’s not good if I keep it all bottled up. And I… I don’t want to lie to you. But I don’t want to upset you.” 

“Okay,” Keith prompts, quiet. 

“I don’t sleep well,” Shiro says, and his gaze doesn’t waver as he speaks. He says it casually. “I never have, but especially after… disappearing.” He powers down his datapad and sets it aside, folding his arms over his knees as he looks at Keith, expression calm despite the thoroughly devastating things he’s saying. “I don’t get nightmares as much as I used to, thankfully, but sometimes they still get me. It’s a process. And, besides, I just got used to sleeping next to…” 

“Your husband,” Keith finishes when he trails off. 

Shiro’s mouth twitches into a smile, something fond and serene. “Yeah,” he says, like he can’t believe he gets to say it still. “My husband.” 

“Right,” Keith says.

Shiro looks at him for a long moment. Then, he tilts his head. “Keith.” 

“Yeah?” Keith asks, fiddling with the blanket. 

“You don’t have to say it like that,” Shiro tells him, voice gentle and damnably understanding. 

“Like what?”

“Like you’re afraid of it.” 

“I’m not _afraid_ of it,” Keith protests, blushing. 

“Aren’t you?” Shiro prompts, not accusing or demanding— more an invitation for Keith to talk about it, if he wants to. And he thought Shiro could read him well before. 

Keith heaves a sigh and hugs his knees. “I never. I didn’t.” His words come out in stuttering stops. He pauses, then presses on: “I never thought I was the marriage type.” 

Shiro hums his understanding. Keith touches the divot in the mattress, the odd spot that, he now realizes, comes from Shiro’s shoulder port digging into the mattress each night. 

He scoots over and narrows his eyes at Shiro. He summons up as much boldness as he can when he says, “Shiro. Come here.” 

Shiro chuckles. “I’m not having this argument again, Keith. The bed’s yours.”

“Yeah, well. I’m not sleeping as long as I know _you’re_ not sleeping. Come here.” 

He hopes he sounds fierce and not nervous. But, then, he also knows the probability of actually fooling Shiro is low enough on an average day. This is a Shiro who’s _married_ to him and knows all his poker faces.

Still, Shiro studies him for a moment and then sighs, standing up and crossing the short space between the couch and the bed. As he approaches, Keith swallows and scoots back further until there’s enough space on the bed for Shiro to lie out comfortably without ever accidentally touching Keith.

Shiro lies out, facing him. He already looks more relaxed than he did a moment ago, sleep touching the corners of his eyes. Keith breathes out slowly and lies down, too, facing Shiro. 

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Shiro reminds him. 

Keith shakes his head. “I’m not.”

He is. He tries not to think about it too much. This is Shiro’s bed. This is the bed he shares with his husband. With _him._ They’ve probably slept in this bed together for years. They’ve had _sex_ together in this bed. Probably multiple times. Probably too many times for Keith’s stupid lizard brain to even fathom right now. He stares at Shiro’s face in the dark, handsome and lined at the edges, and tries not to imagine what Shiro looks like when he comes. It’s a face he’s tried to picture in the past, and now it’s so much worse, with him just a breath away like this. 

_Ugly_ , he desperately tells himself. _Shiro would look ugly when he comes. All scrunchy-faced._

It isn’t an effective strategy because it just leaves Keith feeling endeared. And a little horny. 

He turns over in the bed, curling into himself. 

“I can go back to the couch,” Shiro tells him, like he _knows_ what Keith is thinking. With a feeling of mortification, he realizes that Shiro probably knows exactly what he’s thinking. 

“You’re fine. Don’t move,” Keith tells him. “You need me to sleep, right?” 

Shiro’s quiet for a moment and Keith can hear the amusement laced through his voice when he answers, “Yeah.” 

“Okay,” Keith answers, taking a steadying breath, and rolling over to face him. “So— what do we do? How do you usually sleep?” 

Shiro’s smile is faint, apologetic when he says, “Not in a way we can really recreate now.” 

Keith pauses and then blushes. 

“How are you feeling?” Shiro asks him instead.

“Physically or emotionally?” Keith returns.

Shiro gives him an indulgent look. “Well. Since you asked, both?” 

“Physically fine.” 

“And emotionally?” Shiro prompts, after a pause. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to say, Keith.” 

Keith bites at the inside of his cheek, the question rising up his throat, something that’s settled uncomfortably in his chest since the moment he first arrived here. 

“I don’t belong here,” Keith pushes out. “What if my being here— what if I messed it all up? What if I’ve messed up the timeline and it’ll never—”

He cuts himself off as Shiro shifts, moving closer towards him. He reaches out and touches Keith’s shoulder— an innocent enough touch that leaves Keith feeling like he’s on fire. 

“Back in your time,” Shiro says, gently, “You were recovering in a hospital bed after your fall in Black. Right?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Keith grumbles, impatient, and blushes when he sees Shiro’s faint flicker of a smile. 

“Do you know what I was doing?”

“Something important, probably.” 

Shiro laughs, a soft, delicate little sound that unfurls inside Keith’s chest, a flooding warmth and longing again— he’s heard Shiro laugh but he can’t place why it sounds different now. 

“I don’t remember what I was doing before I heard you were awake. I don’t— it was so long ago now and nothing was as important as getting to you. That’s what I remember. Running to you.” 

Chills slide down Keith’s body, sending his arms into goosebumps. He swallows, not daring himself to hope— a ridiculous impulse, considering all the evidence all around him of a life he and Shiro have had together. It’s too disjointed, disconnected puzzle pieces, something that looks like it might fit but doesn’t: the world he’s found himself in isn’t his own. 

“So?” Keith mutters. 

“So,” Shiro answers. “You being here didn’t change that feeling. I was going to tell you how I feel. This here isn’t the finish line, Keith. This isn’t the end result.” Shiro smiles. “We still have a long road ahead of us. I still have a long life left to make you the happiest man in the world.” 

Keith blinks, something stifling in his chest. He’s never heard Shiro speak like that before and—

“A long life?”

Shiro’s smile turns shy for a moment, small and boyish and just like so many smiles Keith’s known from Shiro over the course of their friendship. “Yeah. Don’t worry. That’s another thing you’ll learn about eventually.” Keith can’t even fully process the words before Shiro continues, softer, “My point, Keith… is that if you want this and I want this, then it’ll happen. Even if you coming here means it won’t happen the same way. It’ll still happen. There’s no universe where I’m not in love with you, too.”

Keith gasps. He doesn’t mean to, but the breath punches out of him anyway. He didn’t even say that to Shiro, didn’t say the thing biting at the back of his mind. And here Shiro is, offering it easily. 

Shiro takes up his hand. It’s a small gesture, slow and careful. 

“You’d cross the universe for me. You _have_ crossed it for me.” Shiro’s quiet for a moment, studying their hands— Keith’s, small against Shiro’s palm, and Shiro’s fingers slightly curled. He looks back up at Keith and smiles. “Trust that I’d do the same for you. In a heartbeat.” 

Keith looks at their hands, still perhaps a little taken aback by how easily Shiro reaches for him, how easily Shiro touches him. Like it’s easy. Like it’s always been that way.

It has. Because it always has been, he realizes.

“You’re it for me, Keith,” Shiro tells him, quiet. “Then, now, in the future. It doesn’t matter. You’re it.” 

Keith looks up and meets Shiro’s eyes. He’s calm as he looks back at him, studying Keith’s face. He’s seen Shiro calm before, but not quite like this— not the forced calm, the _patience yields focus, let go of your anger_ , but a genuine calm. 

It almost reminds him, like a jagged edge in his heart, of the way Shiro looked at him on the astral plane— like it was the last time and he was memorizing Keith, remembering one last moment of happiness before it all faded away again. This, too— looking again at a younger face he hasn’t seen in years. 

Keith bites his lip, his heart galloping in a tender beat against his ribcage. He breathes in and then out again but doesn’t break his eyes away from Shiro. 

Shiro squeezes his hand, just a little press, and Keith knows that Shiro understands. 

Keith shivers, clenching his eyes shut. “There’s— so much about you I don’t know anymore.”

“You might not be my husband yet,” Shiro says, “But you’re still Keith. You’re still my best friend.”

He hates that most of all, all these memories Shiro shares with a Keith he isn’t yet, all these things that Shiro’s thought, felt, become. And Keith knows none of it. Can’t protect him from it or tease him about it. Nothing. 

“You know me in the ways that matter,” Shiro tells him. “Nobody knows me like you do. At any point.” 

Keith closes his eyes and sighs. He’s a mess. He’s always been something of a mess, he knows. Here he is, demanding such reassurance when this Shiro in front of him must be missing his Keith desperately. His husband. 

That longing inside him twists again. It isn’t jealousy, but envy— a future he wants, desperately, but isn’t sure he’ll get. 

Maybe someday he’ll be less of one. Maybe this Shiro’s Keith is less of a mess. 

“I’m afraid,” Keith confesses. “I’m afraid of fucking it up. I’m afraid—” His breath hitches on the words, for half a moment. He almost doesn’t say it. He knows Shiro will protest, he _knows_ Shiro won’t agree. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be good enough for what you deserve, Shiro.” 

He's spent so long knowing his love would never be returned. He’s spent so long sure that they were only ever be friends. 

The fact that Shiro could love him back, though—

He expects Shiro to dismiss his words outright, to shake his head. Instead, though, Shiro just looks at him, studying his face. His smile is a small, heartbroken little thing. 

He shifts closer and touches Keith’s cheek. 

“I wish I could take that feeling away for you,” Shiro tells him, gentle. “I wish there was something I could say that would prove to you how untrue those words are.”

Keith goes breathless. 

“You trust me, right?” Shiro asks.

“ _Yes,_ ” Keith says, without hesitation. “Always.” 

Shiro smiles, his eyes warming. “Then trust me to know my heart and who’s worthy of it. Keith,” Shiro says. “Remember? I will never give up on you.” 

Keith nods. “Shiro.” 

“There’s nothing you could ever do that would ruin this,” Shiro tells him. 

“Oh,” Keith gasps.

“I’m going to tell you something you told me, once. A long time ago.” Shiro waits until Keith nods before he smiles and says, quietly, “You could never do or say anything that would make me not want to be with you, Keith.”

“Oh,” Keith says again, voice wavering this time. He clenches his eyes shut because he doesn’t know what else to do. 

“I get that feeling, though,” Shiro says. “Sometimes I still get into my own head… Start thinking you’d have been better off without me.” 

“Shiro, no—”

“I know,” Shiro cuts in, quiet and gentle. “But I think it, sometimes. I only ever wanted you to be happy.”

“I was always going to be the happiest with you,” Keith insists. 

“I know,” Shiro says again, voice quieter. “Me too.”

Keith swallows— wants to believe those words. Wants to believe everything. He bites his lip and looks at Shiro. 

Shiro smiles back at him and doesn’t shift away or even breathe when Keith tentatively shifts closer. Keith sighs out when Shiro drapes his arm over him and pulls him in close, holding him tight.

“This alright?” Shiro asks.

“Does it help?” Keith asks instead of giving the truth.

Shiro squeezes him tight. “I always sleep better with you beside me.” 

Keith looks up at him, meeting Shiro’s eyes in the dark. He tries to picture this, too— tries to imagine what it’s like, to fall asleep each night in Shiro’s arms. Tries to picture a time in which it might feel normal, not feel so life-changing. His heart hammers in his chest and he’s sure Shiro must feel it.

Shiro curls around him, protectively. He noses into Keith’s hair. 

Keith closes his eyes and tries to relax. He doesn’t quite sleep, but it’s more comfortable to be in the bed with Shiro, to feel his breathing, to feel the ghost of his breath against his temple. He can’t tell if Shiro’s actually sleeping or just lying still and practicing deep breathing.

Keith thinks of the picture. He lifts his hand and touches Shiro’s chest, fingers splayed over the spot just above Shiro’s heart. He feels his heartbeat. Slow. Steady. Keith breathes in. He looks at his fingers and tries to picture wearing a ring. 

 

-

 

Keith wakes first in the morning, both of Shiro’s arms curled around him. He doesn’t dare move until he feels Shiro start to stir. He doesn’t even move then, not until Shiro untangles himself and slides out of bed. He probably knows Keith is awake but he’s too kind to bring it up. He only smiles at Keith and wishes him a good morning once Keith sits up. 

 

-

 

Later into the morning, the Paladins return to work stabilizing the wormhole. The wormhole back to Keith’s time flickers in and out at the center of the hanger. 

“Okay, I could try to explain it to you, but it’s long and complicated. Basically, it’s not closing because of time displacement— wrong Keiths in the wrong time. We need to close it so we can continue our general work with wormholes.”

“And… you need my help for that,” Keith continues.

“Yeah. Another thing that’s long and boring to explain,” Pidge tells him, nudging his shoulder. “But just trust me when I say you’re sensitive to quintessence, okay?”

“Okay,” Keith says. He remembers opening his eyes and looking up right before the wormhole appeared. He believes it. “So—”

“So we can’t do much with wormholes feeding off ambient quintessence without someone who can tell when ambient quintessence is hanging out in the literal fabric of the universe,” Pidge explains, like she’s trying to teach Keith how to tie his shoelaces and he’s an idiot for not having figured it out himself yet. 

“Right,” Keith says, not comprehending in the least.

“Look,” Pidge says, waving her hand. “Just sit there and if you feel something weird, say so.”

It’s so vague that Keith doesn’t know what to do other than to sit there feeling stupid. Hunk joins them once he’s awake and has had enough coffee to function. Truthfully, Keith doesn’t understand engineering too much, but he enjoys watching them work together. It’s like creating art, somehow. Keith’s hand itches to draw, a small, passing thought that he doesn’t chase. Lets it settle in the back of his mind. 

“So, I’m quintessence sensitive, huh?” Keith asks, rhetorically.

“Obviously,” Pidge mutters. “Congratulations, you’re way cooler in the future than you ever thought.”

“He’s only cooler because he grew out the mullet!” Lance shouts belligerently from the machine he’s working at across the way. Keith wonders at the logic of leaving Lance alone at a machine without Allura or Hunk hovering nearby. 

“Fuck off!” he shouts back for good measure. He almost startles when he hears Lance laugh, ducking down to fiddle with some wiring. 

Keith swings his legs and kicks his heels against the cupboards. 

“This doesn’t seem practical,” Keith declares, when he sits there and continues to feel nothing quintessence-y. “Shouldn’t you have figured out a way to— I don’t know, detect ambient quintessence without needing to have a human metal detector?” 

Pidge shrugs, clicking away at her keyboard. “You work just fine.” 

Keith rolls his eyes and sits, waiting for something to happen. Keith tucks one knee up towards his chest and curls his arms around it. Across the hanger, he watches Shiro discuss quantum mechanics or whatever it is they’re all doing with Allura, the wormhole flickering in the air around them like static cling. 

“How does he do it?” he asks, aloud, before he can stop himself. It comes out like a lovelorn sigh and he _hates_ that, especially when both Hunk and Pidge look up from what they’re doing to look at him.

“Do what?” Pidge asks but sounds like she already regrets asking when she sees the direction Keith’s eyes cast.

“Just get…” he fumbles, blushing up to his ears. 

He’s never said anything like this out loud before, to anyone. Not even to Krolia when they were on the space whale and he had to relive his embarrassing, years-long crush with his mom present for all the memories. But then, if he and Shiro are _married_ , it isn’t like it’s some big secret from their friends. He studies the way Shiro scratches at the back of his neck, laughing at something Allura says, his ring flashing in the light as his hand moves. 

“Get… hotter,” he finishes, and the words sound lame and embarrassing and out of place on his tongue. And yet, he loves finally saying it— loves that he _can_ finally say it. A little thrill slides through him and shivers back up his spine. Shiro’s hot. He’s gotten hotter. He’s allowed to say that out loud, allowed to observe it and think it. 

“Wow,” is all Hunk says. 

“He gets older and he’s just— like some sort of—” 

“Fine wine?” Hunk guesses as Keith fumbles.

“Asshole,” Keith finishes, decisive. It sighs out of him, lovelorn and sappy. He rests his chin on his knee and sighs.

“Wow,” Pidge echoes. She turns back towards her machine with a theatrical shudder she could only have learned from being a Holt. “I thought you two were bad married. I forgot how awful the whole pre-relationship phase was.” 

“You know you can tell him that, right, Keith?” Hunk asks him, patting his shoulder. 

Keith can tell that they’re patronizing to him, but in that friendly way only friends do. _Friends._ They’re his friends. They’re still friends. That, too, sends warmth lancing through him. He blushes and hides his smile against his knee. 

Something pricks at the corner of his eye and Keith turns, frowning, at the feeling of energy coiling around him. 

“Oh, he felt something,” Hunk tells Pidge. “Node 63-AQB, looks like. Try that.” 

Pidge taps away at the numbers on the screen and Keith lets his eyes linger at the middle-distance for a while. If that’s what it feels like to sense quintessence, then it isn’t too different from feeling as if someone’s eyes are on him. Keith can’t really describe it or offer much commentary, but he trusts Pidge and Hunk to interpret whatever he’s doing. If it helps him get back to his own time, too, then all the better. 

Keith’s eyes stray back over towards Shiro. 

“We’re married,” Keith says, not like he’s revealing a secret but more like he’s testing the words out. “Me and Shiro.”

“Yep,” Pidge sighs. She turns her head just so Keith will see her roll her eyes. “I’m working, Keith. Do we need to babysit you?” 

Keith snorts and lifts his unpropped leg to nudge at her back. She swats at him playfully and catches his shin. She hits him a second time with a karate chop for good measure and Keith laughs. 

 

-

 

It takes all morning and afternoon, whatever work the Paladins are doing. Keith can’t do much of anything other than get a crick in his neck and an ache in his ribs, and wonder if the prickly feeling he’s feeling is quintessence or just boredom. They pause for lunch upon Hunk’s insistence, but even then the day stretches on long and slow. 

It isn’t until, hours later, well into the evening, that Pidge gives a triumphant little shriek. “Okay, okay, I think I’ve got it!” 

The others spring into action, but Keith’s eyes are on Shiro— the surety that he moves, the way he bites his lip in concentration as he does what Allura directs of him. 

Keith senses it, though— he turns his head towards the center of the hanger and holds it there. A moment later, there’s a loud, resounding pop as the wormhole appears. 

“Quiznak, it worked!” Pidge shouts grinning. The wormhole surges wide and swirling, like a spiral galaxy awakened right inside the Atlas. 

Despite himself, Keith’s eyes find Shiro’s. He’s suddenly too far away. Keith isn’t even aware he’s doing it— isn’t aware he’s walking away from the wormhole itself, the portal back to his time, until he’s in front of Shiro instead. 

Shiro reaches out and touches his arm, then slides down to take his hand. It’s a simple gesture. Keith holds his breath. 

It takes a lot of fiddling and rearranging, but soon enough the wormhole is stabilized and ready. Allura confirms it, hands on the controls, leaving it open long enough before it’s self-sustaining. 

“It’ll shrink and close once the timeline’s returned to normal,” Allura explains. “Essentially, when the Keiths switch their spots.” 

“It’s too bad,” Hunk says. “Keith should be allowed to visit for longer.” 

They’re gathered together, staring at the wormhole as it fluctuates and swirls, coiling into itself and then spreading outward, like an oil slick. Keith swallows down a thick lump in his throat.

They’re sad to see him go. He can see it in their faces when he glances at them all. 

“It’d be nice if I could visit for longer,” Keith confirms, his voice little and tentative— hopeful. 

Something snagged in his heart— so tangled up, so coiled, that he never even realized it was there until now— loosens and uncurls. A small thought, a small pain, undiscovered and unknown. Part of him, he thinks, has always felt this, has always feared that he was always going to be that little boy from the desert, someone small and overlooked, someone not worth staying for, someone not worth caring about. Maybe a small part of him had always been waiting for everyone to leave again. 

He blinks a few times and ducks his head, his entire body shivering, goosebumps itching down his arms. He crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Sorry. I just. I really—” _love you guys_ he doesn’t finish because he can’t quite put it into words yet. He doesn’t know how to voice it, doesn’t know how to let go of that pain. He’s held it for so long that parting with it now is almost terrifying, like he’s letting go of himself. 

_Why, Hunk?_ he’d asked once, out in the void of space, floating and miserable, _Are we even really friends?_

Turns out, he doesn’t need to say the words because Pidge jumps forward and tackles him into a hug. She’s taller now, just under Keith’s height, and so she can’t do the koala-cling like she tends to whenever she starts a dog-pile hug on Hunk or Shiro, but Keith catches her anyway. She’s light. He can’t think to hug her back before Hunk’s the one circling his arms tight around Keith and squeezing him. Soon after, the others pile on— first Allura, then Lance, and finally Shiro, who takes one second to just beam at them all and then drape himself over the hug, squeezing tight. 

Keith squeezes his eyes tight and refuses to cry, but the feeling is there, bubbling beneath the surface. He’s pretty sure he hears Lance sniffle. 

“We love you, too, Keith,” Allura says and Keith lets out a helpless, disbelieving little laugh— but tries to let himself relax into the feeling, to let himself believe it’s true. 

He blinks his eyes open and finds Shiro already watching him, eyes soft. He doesn’t say anything, but Keith feels it. He smiles, watery and unsure. If it’s Shiro, he doesn’t mind being seen with his eyes welling up. He closes them a moment later when Pidge squeezes him tighter and he ducks his head forward, pressing against Hunk’s shoulder. 

“I—”

“Aww, he’s getting emotional,” Pidge says, teasing to cover the fact that her own expression is wavering a bit. 

Keith gives a low chuckle. “Sorry.” 

“Aww,” Allura says, and it’s far kinder coming from her. She pats Keith’s back. 

“For a long time it was just me. Then it was just Shiro. And now…” 

“Now there are so many more people who love you and are waiting for you,” Shiro finishes for him. 

Keith nods, blinking rapidly for a moment. His voice is quiet when he says, “Yeah.” 

“Alright, everyone,” Shiro says, gently. “Let’s get to our places. Let’s make sure Keith gets to where he needs to be.” 

Everyone hugs him one last time and then runs to their stations. Shiro stays there, lingering. Keith can’t help it— he presses forward and falls into Shiro’s space. He breathes out when Shiro hugs him again, warm and tight. 

“I have people waiting for me,” Keith murmurs into his chest, feeling brave. “But I’m— Shiro, I’m always going to be grateful you were the one to find me.” 

Shiro smiles, a small little thing, his eyes misty for only half a second, so quick and so bright that Keith thinks he imagined it.

“You found me, too, Keith.” 

“I…” Keith’s throat feels tight. “Do you think I’ll forget? Going back to my time.”

“I’m not sure. I don’t think so,” Shiro says. He rubs his back. 

Keith pulls back to look up at him. “I want to remember.”

Shiro smiles. “Yeah?” 

“I want to— remember the way you look. Right now. Alive. Happy. I—” He bites his lip. “With me.”

“In love, you mean,” Shiro reminds him, gentle as always.

“Yeah,” Keith agrees. “I don’t want to forget what that looks like.” 

“You already knew what I looked like when I’m in love,” Shiro tells him. “You just didn’t know that’s what it was when I looked at you.” 

It still feels too surreal to imagine. Shiro— loving him back. An impossible wish somehow made reality. 

“You always look so disbelieving,” Shiro murmurs.

“I just figured you— you didn’t like me like that.” 

“Keith,” Shiro sighs, his voice fond. “I was crazy about you. I just…” He shakes his head, chuckling. “I had so much going on in my head. So many reasons why I couldn’t say anything. All the ways in which you deserved better than me.” 

“Shiro—!” the name chokes out of him. 

“I know,” Shiro says and squeezes his hand. 

Somehow, this is the thing that sticks inside him, this is what blooms a fire wild in his chest. The idea, the idea that Shiro could be out there— thinking himself not worthy of Keith, think himself somehow not good enough or loved enough, that _somehow_ Keith hasn’t been in love with him for years—

He doesn’t growl but his jaw sets. A determination floods him, a willingness now— he glances towards the wormhole as it solidifies. 

_Shiro._

“Oh,” Shiro whispers as he looks at him, and then he laughs. “Wow.”

“What?” 

“I…” Shiro shakes his head. “I always wondered what happened to you in the future to make you come back so fired up. You never actually told me.”

Keith doesn’t know what that means and doesn’t bother to ask for the clarification. It won’t matter, anyway. He’ll be living that moment soon enough.

“You’re an idiot if you— if you think that I—”

“I know,” Shiro tells him and smiles. 

Keith grabs Shiro hard by his shoulders, staring up at him. “Shiro. I’m going to spend every moment of my life making sure you _know_ how amazing you are.” 

Shiro looks at him— quiet, for a moment, something fragile in his eyes there for only a blink before his smile unfurls into something sweet and longing. 

Shiro chuckles, low and warm. “There’s my Keith.” 

Keith shivers, and then drags Shiro down into a fierce hug. Shiro’s fingers twist up in his hair and he feels like he’s, finally, home. 

“Me too,” Shiro tells him. “I want you to always be happy.” 

Keith takes a deep breath and tests the words out: “There’s my Shiro.” 

Shiro laughs in his ear and squeezes him tight. “Soon. Eventually. Go get him.” 

Keith turns towards the wormhole, his hairs standing up on end all over his body. He takes a deep breath and casts one last glance over his shoulder— looks at his friends. Shiro. Shiro smiles at him and Keith manages one last smile in return.

Then he turns towards the wormhole, takes a deep breath, and jumps in.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
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>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
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>  **ETA:**  
>  Thank you so much to st00pz for drawing not just [one](https://twitter.com/st00pzdraws/status/1091025801930203137) but [two](https://twitter.com/st00pzdraws/status/1138129151066460161) lovely fanarts for this piece! I'm absolutely floored and humbled that such beautiful art could be created because of this fic... thank you! Please be sure to check the pieces out!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stardropdream) // [Dreamwidth](https://stardropdream.dreamwidth.org/)


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